


the lights down there, that's where we land

by leiascully



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Community: smut_tuesdays, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-17
Updated: 2009-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:16:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's okay," he says.  "I'm still here."</p>
            </blockquote>





	the lights down there, that's where we land

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: spoilers through 4.19 "Daybreak Part One"  
> A/N: Happy [**smut_tuesdays**](http://community.livejournal.com/smut_tuesdays/)! Title is from Joni Mitchell's "This Flight Tonight".  
> Disclaimer: _Battlestar Galactica_ and all related characters belong to Ronald Moore, NBC Universal, Sci-Fi Channel, and Sky One. No infringement is intended and no profit is made from this.

Kara's been here for hours, in this storage closet aft of anything, with her silent husband and the eerie red lights playing over the walls. She's gone over and over the music Hera wrote until all she can see is blotches. Sam is, as ever, silent, just lying there in the tub, eyes closed. Kara sighs and drops her head to her hands. She's never going to make sense of these frakking dots. Sam's never going to say a damn thing she can understand. She might as well give up and go and look for herself at the bottom of a bottle instead. Maybe Lee will drag her home.

That would be a relief, she thinks, except she can't. She can't leave Sam. She can't leave him here in this tub, marinading in who knows what, alone in the universe and lost in his own mind.

She looks up at him. Nothing's changed. Maybe something changed in her when she saw the spray of blood from his neck and caught him in her arms, but since he got out of the surgery she authorized, nothing's changed in him. He looks like he's sleeping if she ignores the tub and the goo and the strange and unflattering absence of the hair she used to run her hands through: his eyelids flicker with movement and his face is peaceful. She hasn't seen him this easy since New Caprica, she thinks, and there's a pang of guilt there for the pain she's caused him.

"Oh, Sammy," she says in a voice she hardly recognizes for the misery in it, and she reaches down into the tank to take his hand, because all at once she can't stand not touching him. She has to push against the goo, almost, and her fingers feel heavy and strange as she finds his, but lords of Kobol, she clasps his palm against hers and his eyes open.

For the first time in weeks, he's focusing on her, blue eyes clear and warm.

"Kara," he says, more tender than she's ever heard, and she bursts into tears. Almost as soon as they start, she's done, dragging her free hand over her cheeks to wipe the salt away, but he smiles at her and her heart squeezes.

"It's okay," he says. "I'm still here."

"I thought I'd killed you," she says, dashing at her eyes again. "Or good as. Worse than. Ishay said you were gone."

He half-shrugs, his head still held tight in the cradle. "You're gonna have to try harder than that, baby. I'm here." He grins that crooked grin, and egghead or not, tub or not, every good memory comes flooding back and she kicks off her boots and her pants and clambers over the edge of the tub. She needs to touch him, feel his body against hers, make sure he's real. He lifts his other arm to help her - she's still clinging to his hand like a lifeline - and she settles against his chest, knees wedged awkwardly around his hips. She shivers at the feel of the goo on her bare legs. A Sharon explained it to her once: it's some sort of healing something or other that regulates his temperature and his bioelectric field. It just feels a little warm and a little tingly to her. She's a lot warmer and a lot more tingly where her skin is against Sam's.

"I missed you," he says, sighing, and she kisses his neck.

"I'm sorry," she says against the soft lobe of his ear.

"Life goes on," he says, tucking his cheek against her hair. "I love you, Kara."

"I love you too," she says, pushing herself up to look into his eyes. "Sam, I..."

"Don't worry about it," he says, and lifts his hand to stroke her face with damp fingers. "It doesn't matter. I love you whoever you are."

She laughs self-consciously. "I'm not sure I can handle you being all evolved or enlightened or whatever."

"I'm not that enlightened," he smirks, and shifts under her; she can feel his cock at the cleft of her legs and a thrill runs through her like there's no fabric between them. She sinks down instinctively, pressing toward him, and they both groan a little.

"Oh, lords, I've missed that," he says. "No kind of headtrip projection feels like that."

"Am I there?" she asks. "Wherever you are when you're not here?"

"You know you are," he murmurs. "You're everywhere."

She bends down and kisses him, full on that familiar mouth, and a shock goes all through her. She feels more alive than she's felt in months. She feels more human, more real. He feels so godsdamn good and solid under her that her whole body's jangling like he's a live wire she's grabbed with both hands.

"Gods," she mutters into his warm mouth, and sits up to strip off her tanks. Her bare chest against his feels even better, and she didn't know how much she's missed him until now, feeling their bodies talk again. His big hands stroke her back and she's trying to arch into his touch and press her hips to his at the same time, dizzy with sensation. The texture of his skin is incredible - maybe the goo's a moisturizer too - under hers and before she knows it, she's wriggling out of her panties, his fingers tight on her hips, holding her up.

"How long does this last?" she pants. "You, here."

"As long as you're touching me, I think," he says. "Don't let go, Kara." His smile quirks at one side, like his thoughts are weighing it down; now that he's bald, his cheekbones stand out even more. She kisses him again, gripping his hips with her knees, easing down, the goo swirling around them. She braces one hand on the side of the tub, trying not to sink too fast. He fills her up, gods, the same incredible way he always has, and she's light-headed again when her hips finally come to rest against his. The lights in the room flicker as he groans.

"Was that you?" she says.

"I think so," he says. "Us, anyway."

She shifts her hips experimentally and squeezes around him; the lights flicker again. She draws her fingertips down his chest. "Don't blow us all to hell, Sammy."

"I'll try not to," he says, sliding his hand up her back until he can pull her down for a kiss. "Gods only know if it'll heal the old girl or split her open."

"Either way, I'm staying where I am," she says, and rocks her hips. She feels whole with him, peaceful, and so godsdamn turned on that every little shift makes her bite her lip. Her whole torso is goosebumps as he draws circles around her nipples. She doesn't remember that it's ever been this good; she's plugged into something new. His eyes are narrowed but not closed; he's watching her. Under the glow of the goo, his hips bump up against hers, urging her on, and he sucks in a breath when she tilts her pelvis just the way he's always liked.

"Gods, Kara," he says, and she grins, fierce, triumphant. It's like she can feel every little ridge of him inside her. She can feel the whorls on his fingertips as he drags his hands down her front and touches the place that makes her jump and swear and bear down. She thinks her whole body is lit up, her blood shimmering like the red curtains of light on the walls, her skin as bright as the surface of the goo. He holds her hips and pushes up into her, and his strength melts her. Gods, the life in him, after everything: the vital heat of him grows and grows in her body until she's afraid the goo around them will boil, and he's still thrusting up and up, taking her higher.

"Wait," she says, "wait, wait, should we be doing this?"

"Don't care," he says, "baby, come here." He pulls her face down and kisses her and she stops caring about _should_ when he's there, in her, under her, around her, and the movement of his body is like music. The lights blink on and off erratically, showing her glimpses of his body. She remembers the perfect line of his arm and back when they played Pyramid, the beauty of his game that had her tied up in knots that he unraveled with his touch. Now she's unraveling completely, muscle and sinew and resolve dissolving; they'll be one creature, one melded thing of two minds and an inexplicable rapport, because wherever they've gone wrong, it's never been here. He moves in her and it's a prayer, she's praying, whispering to the heavens, offering up her thanks, singing praises. He moves in her and she comes undone, supernova in his arms, pressing down against him like she's the only ground she's ever known. He whispers her name, calls her baby, tells her it's okay, and she grinds down against him until she loses her mind, only certain of his arms around her.

He grunts and pushes up, lifting her hips so that she clutches at the sides of the tub. His back arches until she's almost worried, but then his thighs tighten under her and the lights go out with a snap. He groans and sinks back down, holding her against him like he never wants to let go. The only illumination is the still-glowing goo; his eyes are in shadow, but she kisses the underside of his chin as he swallows and breathes hard.

"How long do you think it'll take them to figure out what the problem is?" she asks, tracing an idle design on his shoulder.

He chuckles and licks his lips. "Not too long, I guess. I imagine Galen's got diagnostics running already."

"I don't want to go, Sam," she says.

"I'll be here," he says, stroking her back. "Listening for your music. I wish I could help you."

She raises her head. "Do you know it?"

"I think I'd have to play it," he says, spreading his hands. "No guitar. No keyboard. But I'll let you know. Just check in. I'm listening."

In the hallway, someone's shouting. She sighs. "I'll be back."

"I know you will," he says, kissing her lingeringly. "Go."

She clambers out of the tub, abandoning the panties that are sunk somewhere in the bottom, and drags her clothes back on. When she glances at him, his face is blank and still again. Only the flush on his chest betrays them. She sniffs hard.

"New command," he says in a monotone. "Kara Thrace will lead them to their end."

She turns her face away.


End file.
